Clear and Present
by Dana Keylits
Summary: A 7x03 post-ep that picks up right where the show left off. I own nothing, I am simply borrowing from the genius mind of AWM.


**Clear and Present  
><strong>By Dana Keylits

It's not as if he hadn't seen her naked in the past few weeks, that wasn't it, because he had, he'd seen her get dressed in the morning, undressed at night. It's just, he hadn't seen her _naked._ You know, _naked_ naked. Naked, and willing, and ready and so, so, _very_ hot.

_That_ he hadn't seen in awhile.

He hadn't _been_ in awhile.

And, it had been longer for her, since, as she'd pointed out before his mother had unwittingly tangled herself in his Zombie Apocolypse-slash-Invisible Man Detector, he'd lost two months of his life to amnesia, so for _him_, it had only been several weeks, but for _her_ it'd been several _months._

So when she rounded the corner in her special _invisible_ outfit, his jaw dropped, his breathing stalled, his insides fluttered, and suddenly every dark thought he'd had, every strained feeling, every doubt, trouble or worry that had ever filled the spaces in his brain were all banished to its darker corners. He sat up, watched through hooded eyes as she silently advanced, the only sound in the room the gentle padding of her feet against the floor. And, before he knew it, she was standing in front of him, her fingers combing through his hair as he pressed his lips to her midsection. He inhaled the familiar scent of her - lavender, and vanilla, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Cherries. That was it, she smelled like cherries.

Still.

This comforted him.

As though memorizing her, his hands wandered from behind her knees, up the back of her thighs to her deliciously-shaped ass, then crisscrossed behind her back as he held her close, afraid to let go, afraid this was just a dream, a fantasy he'd cooked up in his still-addled mind.

But it wasn't a dream, it was real, she was real, and as she lowered herself onto his lap, her fingers working the tiny buttons of his shirt, he felt his insides flip-flop and he could no longer abide the fabric barrier between them. He helped her with the buttons, quickly releasing his hands from the cuffs, and tore off his shirt, seizing her mouth with his, a bruising kiss that released every thought, every fear, every desire he'd had for and about her since waking up in that hospital bed and realizing she'd spent the last two months thinking he was dead.

Or worse.

Suddenly, his emotions became larger than his body could contain, and he stood up, taking her with him, veining himself around her, exploring every slope and line, every rise of her brilliantly naked body, relishing the feeling of her warm flesh against his bare chest, flinching when her fingers reached for his belt...his button...his zipper, filling her palm with him, all while her lips ghosted his, her tongue delving into the warm cavern of his mouth, dancing, searching, canvassing him.

He heard a whimper rise up between them, and then quickly realized it had come from his own throat. It must have turned her on, because Kate growled in reply, shoving his pants unceremoniously down his legs then slipping her knee between them, curling her foot around his calf, pressing her belly against his growing erection. She returned her lips to his, then kissed her way along the hard lines of his jaw, down the column of his throat, she scraped her teeth against the delicate skin there, and this time _he_ growled.

He picked her up, spun her around and practically threw her onto the bed before landing atop her, a torrent of giggles and whispers and growls passing between them as they rolled on the bed, fighting for dominance, for control.

He had her pinned to the mattress and she immediately wrapped her endlessly-long legs tightly around his middle, as though she were either holding on for her life or preparing to toss _him_. She wiggled beneath him, urging him, begging him, and as he kissed her, slowly, his lips barely brushing against her, she _bit_ him, grunting as she gathered his lip between the dangerous ridge of her teeth.

Then his name came roaring past her lips in a husky whipser that was so commanding, he felt it ripple through his veins. She bucked against him, hissing, "_Castle_!" But he wanted to take his time, he wanted to savor this, knowing that as soon as she encircled him he'd be climaxing way too soon.

But, she was impatient, needy, breathless, and with what seemed to be very little effort, had managed to flip them so that now _he_ was pinned to the mattress. She rose up on her knees above him, her hair a messy halo around her face, her palms pressed against the sinewy curve of his pectorals. Her breath coasted over him in jagged uneven exhales and he reached up with both hands, brushing her hair aside to frame her face with his palms, and, staring at her through inexplicably misty eyes, breathed, "I love you" He felt his lip quiver as he repeated himself, "I love you, Kate."

She covered one of his hands with her own, turning her face so her lips could press softly against his palm and closed her eyes. "I love you too, Rick." She opened them, gazing at him through glassy, chameleon eyes. "So much."

She tilted her hips and, curling one hand around him, guided him inside of her, slowly lowering herself onto him. He could feel her surround him with elastic inner muscles, stretching to accommodate his full width, taking him as deeply as possible, before she slowly rose up again. She arched backwards, her hands moving to lay limply at her sides as her hair fell along her spine and her body was set ablaze by the glow of the moonlight that streamed in through the long glass of his open window. She looked like a porcelain statue, except that statues didn't make you feel like _this._

He mapped a path along her abdomen, gently tracing the hourglass of her waist, the ladder of her ribcage, filling his palms with her swollen breasts, his thumbs gliding over her pinkened nubs, and he closed his eyes as she established a metronomic pace, taking in the whole of him, then sliding upwards before plunging towards him again. He felt shattered, like every emotion he'd ever felt in his entire life were careening towards him and there was nothing he could do but brace himself for the impact.

Again, she covered his hands with her own, forcing him to massage her breasts in rhythm with her ever increasing gyrations. Stabs of pleasure radiated from his center and he could feel the coiling that was happening deep within his belly. He would wait for her shouts before his own release, but he was finding that increasingly difficult, especially as she hovered above him, looking positively like a Greek goddess.

And then her breathing changed, a familiar halting that told him she was close, and he thrust into her, tilting his pelvis so he could make contact with her engorged clit. His gaze dropped to the place where they were joined and he watched as he slid in and out of her, his erection full and glistening from the wetness inside of her. She quickened her pace, her hands dropping to his chest where she braced herself for the tsunami that was about to crash against her shores.

Her eyes tightly closed, her lips slightly parted, he felt her whole body shudder above him, goose-bumps rising up atop her alabaster skin like an invading army, her breath stalled mid-inhale, and he could feel her begin to splinter around him, pulsing quickly with each crashing wave of her orgasm, his name tumbling like a litany from her lips as her body rippled with erotic pleasure.

It took more than a minute, but when she was done, she gripped him tightly, her body as motionless as stone, and he was trapped, ensnared by powerful inner muscles that refused to let go. He was starting to panic because his own climax was right at the precipice, and he needed her to release him if we was going to reach it.

And then she did, and _when_ she did, he gripped her at the waist with both hands and rolled them so that now she was on her back. He propped his elbows by her side, bracketing her face with his hands as he gazed into her hypnotic eyes and then, never losing eye contact, he plunged into her.

Over, and over.

And, over.

Until it was _his_ turn to pray her name, to spill into her, releasing every emotion, every doubt, every fear, every bit of _himself_ that she could take. Thrusting into her, over and over, until he was empty, softening, his body a mass of useless flesh, flaccid muscle, aching bones, his eyelids heavy, his lungs screaming, his heart thundering, his mind a jumble of conflicting thoughts, overwhelming emotion, yet, completely and _wholly_ satisfied.

In his spiral, he'd only vaguely noticed that she had come again too. Her moans and cries added to the chorus of his, rising and echoing from the ceiling above them, filling all of the empty spaces in the room, the empty spaces in each of_ them_.

And, as he eased out of her, collapsing beside her, and she turned away, scooting her body back to fit into the spoon of his – as he enveloped her, cocooned her – his only thought, his final spoken word, a hushed whisper that floated from his lips to her ears, was, "_We're gonna be alright, Kate. No matter what, we're gonna be alright."_

And, they were.

**The End. **

**A/N: **Thanks to my friend, Kristy, for telling me I had to write this. I wasn't going to. But, for her, I'll do just about anything. :-) Hope you liked it.


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